


What is Wrong with You?

by TheLightFury



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger, Angst, Azkaban, Death Eater Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-24
Updated: 2019-02-24
Packaged: 2019-11-05 00:32:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17908661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLightFury/pseuds/TheLightFury
Summary: “Okay, seriously. What is wrong with you?” Potter rounded on him, stopping Draco short in his pacing.“The fuck do you care, Potter?” Draco spat.- Just some typical Drarry arguments during eighth year.





	What is Wrong with You?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my wonderful and amazing beta, hermione18802!!! She is brilliant!!!

Draco sank down into his favourite plush armchair in the eighth year common room, sighing in relief. Exhaustion roiled through him like a powerful storm and all he wanted was some peace and quiet.

“Who's up for a part-AY?!” Dean Thomas hollered, the uncultured lout, gaining loud approval from around the room. Draco groaned internally and suppressed the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. Damn weekends making people think they could be loud and carefree.

“Ron? You in? Good man! Can you grab some drinks? Cheers, mate. Neville? C'mon, Herbology can wait! We always have tomorrow! I'll even help you!... Okay, you know I won't stop until you say yes. THERE we go! Why don't you sort us some music? Right, now, Hermione? Can we count on you for decoration? Yeesss.”   
Finnegan jumped on the bandwagon with Thomas's announcement and was working his way round the room, involving and organising everyone in the common room. Draco glared as the Irish man turned to him.

“What about you, Malfoy?” His tone had lost some of it’s enthusiasm and the smile didn't quite reach his eyes; inter-house unity or not, it was clear they didn’t want him there.

“I appreciate the offer but I respectfully decline.” Gathering what little energy he had left, Draco rose out of the chair, making towards the dorms. 

“Told you he wouldn't.” Draco bristled at the sour tone of the Weasel. Shooting his best glare in the ginger's direction, Draco drew himself up to his full height. He was too tired to just ignore this shit today.

“Problem, Weasel?” He spat, icily.

“Yeah, ferret-face, there is a problem! The fact that everyone else is trying to put the past behind us and get along whilst you're still sat there looking down your nose at us!” 

Draco kept his eyes trained on the Weasel's, ignoring the squared shoulders and flexing hands.

“I have no idea what you think I’m doing, Weaselbee, but my decline is not based on rivalry or old grudges, no matter how uncultured I believe you all to be, but rather on my feeling fatigued this evening. You must think yourself inferior to assume that's the reason for my not joining you.” He sneered, unable to keep the retort to himself. 

Weasel's face turned an incredible shade of puce and Draco had to smirk at the sight. Before he knew it, the room had erupted into yells and shouts, half of Gryffindor were holding back the cretin, and there was an arsehole with untameable black hair stood in-between them. 

Who better than to be watching the scene than the Saviour of the Bloody Wizarding World himself.

“Ron! Calm down, he isn't worth it. We've all had enough of fighting.” 

Potter's voice was commanding and the whole room seemed to still at the sound. Weasel resigned himself to glaring at Draco, who smiled sweetly at his repugnant face.

“And Malfoy, why bait him? If you're not looking down your nose at us, you are being an arsehole and sounding like a stuck up prick. You could at least try not to be such a knob.”

The smile dropped off Draco's face immediately.

“I’m a knob?!” He asked, incredulously. This time it was Potter who was squaring his shoulders 

“Yes. You are, and you could try not to be. You could try and fit in, or just have a civil conversation with someone. You haven't been to one of our parties or quiz nights, or even said _hello_ to any of us at any point this year, and it’s already November for fuck’s sake. You leave the school every weekend without telling anyone why and come back in a sour mood each time, treating us all like we're pieces of shit on your expensive shoes. You could try and be nice like we have been to you. You might be less likely to be punched then.”

“Ever considered that I don’t want to ‘fit in’ Potter? That I would just like to have my privacy respected, finish my education, and be done with all of you?!” Draco spat, cheeks flushing in anger. 

Potter regarded him for a minute before he sighed, a hint of resignation on his face before uttering, “I just thought you'd want an easier year, that's all.” 

Without waiting for a reply, Potter walked away, helping Hermione set up some decorations for the impromptu piss up. Following his lead, the crowd dispersed slowly, sending a few more contemptuous looks in Draco’s direction, leaving Draco standing flushed and frustrated in the middle of the room. Stalking up to his dorm, he grabbed the closest thing to hand and threw it across the room frustration.

_Of course_ he wanted an easier year! He _hated_ fighting all the time just to keep his head above water! Couldn’t Potter and his pathetic posse see that? Everyone thought they knew him. Everyone thought he was still the same old brat from the previous years. All the crap about inter-house unity and moving on and being friends like a bunch of Hufflepuffs was just bollocks. As soon as someone saw the name Malfoy, it was like the war was still happening. He was done with this shit. That was why he was keeping to himself, staying out of people's way who criticised and judged him just for being a Malfoy. Wasn’t that obvious?!   
No, of course not, because perfect fucking Potter only ever thought about his fucking self. And why the hell was it anyone's business where he spent his weekends? It was his life! He didn't have to attend their shit, and shouldn't have to just to be considered a decent person this year! They should just trust him! But no, because of his stupid family, and his stupid mistakes, he wasn't worthy of that trust now, was he?! 

Draco sent another item flying through the air, not even noticing what it was, before stalking around the room, thoughts swirling around and around in his head. He was so preoccupied that he didn't notice Potter entering to grab something from his trunk. 

“You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet.” Potter commented, voice muffled by the trunk that he was becoming more buried in.

“The fuck do you care, Potter?” Draco spat. He heard Potter sigh.

"Okay, seriously. What is wrong with you?” Potter rounded on him, stopping Draco short in his pacing.

“All we want is for people to get along. You don't have to explain your whole life to us, but you act like a robot with too many emotions, not a human. Would it be that difficult for you to just say _‘Hi’_ once in a while rather than being so… poncy? Snooty? Weird? All the time?! It just seems like some pureblood horseshit way to act after everything we’ve been through, so you can’t really blame us for not trusting you.”

“And seriously, who goes somewhere every weekend without fail and comes back acting like they’ve had a stick shoved up their arse? What can possibly that important when it obviously makes your life hell? Saturday's are meant to be fun and chilled. What are you even doing, Malfoy?”

“You wouldn't understand.” Draco ground out.

“Then try me.” Draco scoffed, rolling his eyes.

“Seriously, try me! For once in your life actually fucking try someone and don't run away like a coward.”

Draco's eyes snapped back up to Potter's, anger burning within.

“Is that what you think I'm doing?!” He demanded, voice raising. Potter sighed tiredly.

“No, Malfoy I-”

“You think I'm here, dealing with all of this _fucking shit_ and _still_ being a fucking coward?! Listening to people's petty comments each day, seeing the disgust in their faces when my mark gets revealed slightly, or dealing with the shit when the name Malfoy hits the _Prophet_ again?!”

“Malfoy, no I didn't mean-”

“Then what _did_ you mean?” He advanced towards the obnoxious twat.

“I meant just fucking _tell me_ what you’re doing so as I could try to understand!” Potter shouted in his face.

“I shouldn't have to explain myself to you!” He yelled back. Before Potter could respond, Draco continued.

“Why do you even think I want your help? The great Harry Potter wants to take pity on the poor Malfoy boy. Well that’s just _fucking perfect_ for you! But I don’t want to be another one of your charity cases! ”

“ _Charity cases?!_ Oh, for fuck’s sake Malfoy, grow up! Are you that proud that you can’t accept help for once in your life?! You literally just said that people treat you like shit, so I try and treat you decently and you make it clear that you don’t want that! What the fuck else am I supposed to do, Malfoy?! Beg? Or just continue treating you like the arsehole I thought you were?! …” 

“You know what? Fine, don't tell me. I don't even care anymore!” Potter turned to leave with a stalk that Draco thought his father would have been proud of. Draco sighed as Potter reached the door, exhaustion suddenly crashing over him. 

“Wait.” The word was out of his mouth before he really realised it. 

Potter turned slightly in the doorway, an eyebrow raised expectantly. 

_‘Well, shit.’_ Draco thought to himself. He took a few deep breaths and focused on the Quidditch pitch through the window.

“I… I go to see my father. In Azkaban.” 

The room was silent as Potter’s shoulders dropped and he leant against the door. Waiting. Draco continued to study the pitch.

“I didn't know you still… I didn't know you were on good terms.” Potter replied when it became clear Draco would not be elaborating. Draco snorted.

“We aren't.”

“I don't understand.”

“Of course you don't, Potter. I told you that you wouldn't.” Draco’s words were clipped and bitter. The eejit didn’t get the message, however, and Draco heard his footsteps approach slightly.

“Help me, Draco,” He pleaded, “help me understand.”

Potter's eyes were earnest when Draco met them briefly, knocking the breath out of his chest. After a pause, he continued, eyes re-trained on the observer stands.

“Mother can't go and see him due to Ministry regulations. No one else cares. He'll lose his memory if no one goes in.”

Silence. And then, “But you don't enjoy it.”

“No.”

“Do you like him?”

“He's my father.”

“But do you like him?” Draco paused, grinding his teeth together, feeling frustration start to mount again.

“No.”

“And you aren't on good terms.”

“I told you that, Potter.” The tosser really was annoying with his stupid obvious questions.

“And you hate it.”

_“Obviously!”_

Looking at the speccy git’s face, Draco thought Potter’s nose would look good with a bit of blood on it. Unconsciously, they moved closer to each other, as if drawn together by the their anger.

“So why do you do it?”

“He’s. My. _Father._ ” 

“So it’s because of familial obligation?”

“No, Potter, I-”

“So why do it?”

“Because he deserves-”

“No he doesn’t, you know that, and it makes you miserable, why do it?”

“Because Mother-”

“Fuck your mother, she knows he’s a prick, why do you do it?”

“ _Because_ it’s the right thing-”

“Fuck off, Malfoy, you know as well as I do the right thing is for him to rot in that hell hole after all he-”

“ _BECAUSE HE NEEDS ME,_ POTTER!!!” 

Potter blinked as Draco's wild eyes met his, cutting his rant short. 

“You stupid, self-centred, arrogant prick! You just don’t get it. You’re all living as if you haven’t got a care in the world, partying at stupid fucking times, drinking to ‘new beginnings’ and ‘unity’ but no-one fucking cares about the Death Eater. You can _all_ celebrate together with your old housemates and friends, but I only have me. I am the _only fucking_ Slytherin here. The _only_ one that fought on the other side. The only Death Eater…”

“No one wants to spend time with that, no matter what you all say about inter-house relations. It’s _fucking_ obvious! My Father is the _only_ person out of everyone in the world who actually needs me. That’s why I go and see him. Are you happy now?!”

Draco turned away abruptly, returning to the window. Potter remained frozen to the spot.

“He needs me.” Draco repeated, letting out soft breath as his gaze dropped to the windowsill. “And when someone needs you, no matter how much of a bastard they are, how much you know you shouldn't… You love them, Potter. Now, if you would kindly leave me alone, I'd appreciate it.” The windowsill blurred in front of him. 

After a few long moments of silence, Potter's quiet voice interrupted his attempts to get his emotions back in check. 

“I may not need you, Draco, but I want you. I want you to have a good year, especially because the last two were so shit. I want you to enjoy yourself and be a teenager that you were never allowed to be, with stupid parties and alcohol and silly games.” 

“I want you to be free to be you, to be respected and trusted in the Wizarding World, and not just looked at as if you are your father. I want you to be happy, because I can't remember the last time you smiled. And I want you to know that if you would like to be, I want to be your friend. Not your enemy.”

Draco swallowed hard, not trusting himself to look back at Potter, who was undoubtedly looking sickeningly sincere like some sort of Hufflepuff.

“We might still see you as the Death Eater’s son now, but if you give us a chance to get to know the person you actually are, you’d be surprised at what you’d find.” 

Silence reigned for a few seconds, before Potter retreated quietly, leaving Draco to process his words and fight his emotions on his own. 

Maybe Potter had a point. Maybe Draco should go and have a few drinks. Or play a round of exploding snap, at some point. Maybe he could be less formal. Allow them to see a different side of him. And maybe, just maybe, if he did all of those things, he and Potter could be friends, even after everything. 

As soon as the thought formed, however, Draco scoffed at himself, the idea propstorous in his mind. Friends, indeed.

As the light steadily faded outside, the trials and tribulations of the day weighed heavily on him, and Draco’s bed beckoned him into its warm, comfortable embrace. As the world slowly ebbed away, Draco found it undeniable that the dark, clawing, aching hole inside his chest that had become Draco’s only true friend for as long as he could remember, felt slightly smaller, and less oppressive than before. 

The tiniest spark of hope had been ignited.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! This was inspired by the song 'As Long as He Needs Me' from Oliver, specifically the Jodie Prenger version. If you don't know it, I highly recommend it!


End file.
